Trust
by R2s Muse
Summary: Set after DA2, an innocent haircut turns into much more for the former Knight-Captain Cullen and his fearless leader. A short story for the BSN Cullen Forum "first kiss" prompt.


_**Trust**_

**By R2s Muse**

_Disclaimer: The Dragon Age setting and its characters belong to Bioware._

**A/N: Happy Page 500, BSN Cullen Forum!_  
_**

* * *

Cullen jumped when warm breath tickled his ear and long dark hair swept over his shoulder.

"Cullen, you've got to relax. Perhaps the time has come for you to start trusting me," she said softly against his ear. Her lips brushed against him when she smiled and then she straightened, letting him breathe a little easier as she moved away.

_Trust_. That was of course easier said than done. He looked uneasily at the flash of razor sharp metal at the edge of his vision. He knew she was a master of the blade, but this was very different. It was much more up close and personal and required much greater control. Especially so close to his neck. And, primary arteries.

While she resumed her work, he glanced around him at the multitude of long, tangled curls littering the bank of the pond next to which he sat. With the fading sunlight picking out the reddish highlights in the twisted golden lengths, the discarded hair looked almost macabre, like she was cutting away the painful history that had led to his dramatically changed appearance.

_If only it were so simple..._

He took a deep breath and tried to center himself again, holding still against the insistent tug and snip at the back of his head. Periodically she would manhandle him, moving his head this or that direction with hands that felt hot against his inexplicably flushed skin.

He was acutely aware of her as she moved behind him. The rustle of her clothing. The smell of her sun-warmed skin. The feather-light touch of her fingertips along his scalp. The heat whenever her body pressed against him, presumably to steady herself as she cut, but he was starting to wonder.

Each time she touched him it got harder and harder for him to sit still; instead he felt the urge to flinch, fidget, respond... It was only his deeply ingrained templar training that kept him in check despite his building need to do… something.

She was starting to move toward the front of his head so he could now see her out of the corner of his eye. Her catlike green eyes were narrowed in focus and her tongue peeped up from between her lips as it sometimes did when she concentrated. She had stripped down to her sleeveless linen shift, which fluttered slightly in the cool breeze that rose with the dropping afternoon temperatures.

He, on the other hand, was shirtless, something she had insisted upon so he wouldn't end up with shorn hair everywhere. Or, so she had claimed.

She pulled a long lock of hair down straight from one temple and he held deathly still, closing his eyes when the shears came within his field of view. A loud _snip_ and her hold loosened.

She chuckled. "Relax."

His eyes snapped open as soft fingers sank into his shaggy beard and used his chin as an anchor to move his head to and fro so she could review her work. She had moved in front of him to focus on the crown of his head, and as she stepped in to cut more from the top, he found himself staring into her considerable cleavage. He blinked in surprise, wanting to avert his eyes like a gentleman but knowing he couldn't move.

From across the nearby pond, another cool breeze blew over his overheated body, a balm to the cold sweat that had broken out on his skin. He learned it was chilling her as well when the too thin fabric of her shift suddenly revealed, rather definitively, that she wasn't wearing a breastband.

He immediately clamped his eyes shut, willing himself to back to stillness, willing his body to stop reacting, as a creeping heat formed in the pit of his stomach and his heart rate sped up. He tried to keep his eyes shut, truly he did, but he was only a man after all. Was looking really as sinful as touching? He decided it wasn't.

Her tawny skin gleamed in the sun from the sheen of sweat. The smooth hollows at her collarbone made him want to trail his fingers along their curves and learn the landscape of her. She stood still as she combed and cut, but each tiny movement caused her breasts to sway slightly under that damnable shift, its thin white fabric no longer hiding but teasing what lay beneath.

She instantly reclaimed his attention with another hand on his chin, tilting his face up to hers. "There, you almost look like the old Cullen again," she said with a satisfied smile. "Now for that horrid beard."

He took another deep breath, looking inward for extra reserves of control. He succeeded in ignoring the newly transparent spots on her white shift where the shaving water had dripped. He breathed deeply of the clean smelling soap instead of humming in pleasure at the teasing sweep of the shaving brush around his face. But his successes were short-lived.

He looked askance at the wicked-looking flat razor she then produced, but his concern was immediately subsumed by white hot panic when she nudged his knees apart with her leg so she could sidle closer. He could feel her warmth radiating through the shift, her bare skin now just a breath away from his and her leg an inviting pressure against his inner thigh. His breathing sped up and he would have shied away but for the hold she had on the back of his neck and the sharp razor she ran along his throat in lazy, even strokes.

He tried to close his eyes again, hoping she hadn't noticed the internal battle he fought with himself. Or the external signs that he was losing. Badly. But his traitorous eyes inevitably flew open again, appreciating too much the contrast of her soft curves and strong hands, the temptation of the pink tip of her tongue that peeked out again between her full lips, the glistening along the swell of her breast.

The only respite for his overwhelmed senses was when she turned away to clean the blade, but even then he found his eyes hungrily following the long, graceful line of her neck as she turned away.

Thankfully, she was about finished, focusing carefully on the area around his nose, when she finally slipped. He felt a small blossom of pain at the corner of his mouth at the same time that she swore softly.

"I'm so sorry, Cullen," she murmured, and without thinking what it would do to his tenuous self-control, she licked the pad of her thumb and brought it to his lip to wipe away the blood.

A shudder ran through him at her touch and before he knew what he was doing, his hand shot up, grabbing hold of her fingers. He met her startled eyes and watched them darken with desire as he tentatively brushed his lips against the very tip of her thumb.

They both just stared at each other with wide, hot eyes, frozen for the space of an instant. An instant where they could have stopped, but didn't.

With a groan of desperation, he roughly pulled her into his arms for a bruising kiss, slanting his mouth across hers greedily. She went limp, giving up control, but then scrambled so she was sitting in his lap, straddling his legs. His arms wrapped around her with one hand snaking up to the nape of her neck and tangling in her hair. He held her tightly against him, moving her head just so to give himself better access to the sweetness of her lips. In blind need, his tongue danced with hers, answering temptation at last with a thoroughness that surprised him.

She had wrapped her legs around his waist, moving ever so slightly against him from within the confines of their tight embrace. But, the mild friction drove him higher until, like a drowning man seeking air, he was unable to drink enough of her. His hand slipped under her shift, sliding up the hot skin of her back and then around to the flat planes of her stomach. She gasped when his hand closed on her breast, which instantly pebbled against his rough palm.

He released her mouth and kissed his way down her neck to her other breast, taking it in his mouth through the thin fabric of her shift and gently teasing with his teeth. The counterpoint of the rough fabric and the smoothness of her skin was driving him crazy, and he was ready to be done with the tedious fabric.

But then he almost jumped out of his skin when an entire flock of geese suddenly took flight from the pond, springing to the air right above them. Heart drumming in his chest, he pulled her against him, protectively wrapping his arms around her until he could determine the actual source of the threat. But when none appeared, the implications of his actions all came crashing down on him.

_What in the Void am I doing?_

Was he really intending to perform such a sacred and private act in this way? Lewdly fraternizing with his leader, whom he wasn't even sure he trusted? His leader who was already foolish enough to trust him? Panic welled up again along with the return of his self-loathing.

"No! Maker above, I… I can't do this." He jumped away from her so abruptly that she tumbled unceremoniously to the ground.

"W- What?" She stared up at him open-mouthed from where she had fallen, the lingering haze of desire making her gaze slightly unfocused.

"Spare me your wicked temptations, woman," he spat, hating himself for his weakness. For his own still-burning desire. For his undiminished need to hold her close and safe.

"But, I thought… I'm sorry… I thought…" The wide-eyed look of hurt and confusion on her face was too much for him to bear.

He made a frustrated sound deep in his throat and strode away from her toward the water's edge. With a smooth dive, he broke the surface, the cold water an instant blessing and relief that started to wash away his desire and shame. He concentrated on sharp, clean strokes and was soon far from the shore. Far from her.

_Trust_. Much easier said than done. How could he possibly begin to trust her when he couldn't even trust himself?

_Fin_


End file.
